Sweat beads along my skin despite the brisk March morning, but I continue pushing myself, pumping my arms harder as I sprint down the beach, the fast-paced tune of Brandon Lake’s “I Need a Ghost” blasting through my headphones.
The sand is soft beneath my bare feet, making it well worth the risk of accidentally stepping on a shell. There’s
just something about running barefoot on the beach that makes the start of a day perfect. I drop down and knock out thirty push-ups, then jump back up to my feet, wipe the sand from my hands and start running again.
In another mile, I’ll repeat, just
as I have every single mile since I started running forty minutes ago. It’s a morning
routine I’ve maintained—even in the rain—since I got clearance from Doc to be active after being shot and nearly bleeding out on the floor of the local high school almost a year ago.
I’ve been at full functionality for seven months now, but even still, I don’t feel strong enough. Fast enough. I’m a Marine. A man who has seen more combat than I care to focus on. And after that, I’d been a detective at the LAPD for a decade. Ten years of chasing down bad guys and solving murders.
But after a few months in the small coastal town of Hope Springs, Maine, working private security with a group of other Veterans I’ve come to see as brothers, I nearly died. The sound of that gun going off haunts my nightmares, as does the look on Reyna Acker’s face as the man abducting her forced her out of my sight.
I hadn’t been able to protect her then.
But I’m going to make sure I don’t fail on my next job.
I pump my arms and legs faster, as though picking up speed will force the memories from my mind. The nightmares that still wake me from a dead sleep.
A beep in my ear signifies another mile down, so I drop down and knock out another thirty push-ups, then push up and take off running again. My muscles burn with exertion, but I know that it’s these last miles that truly make me strong. When I feel like I can’t go anymore, that’s when I find my strength.
I’ve made it another half mile when I see a familiar brunette standing at the edge of the
ocean, her bare feet in the sand. The sight of her steals my breath, and I come to a stop, heart beating heavily for a whole new reason.
The breeze toys with her dark hair, gently caressing the strands that have come free from her loose bun. Her jaw is strong, her features elegant as she stares out at the crashing waves. She’s wearing bright pink shorts and a white T-shirt beneath a pale pink cardigan.
She’s beautiful. Breathtaking. And not for me.
I start to turn around, head back up the beach, but then she glances my way, and I note the troubled expression on her face even as she offers me a wave and a soft smile.
So instead of bolting the other
way, I continue toward her. Stopping at her side, I remove my headphones and shove them into my pocket. “Surprised to see you out here this early.”
Margot O’Connell—or rather Margot Anderson, as she’s officially divorced now—sighs and brushes some of the strands of her thick, dark hair behind her ear. She’s the younger sister of Michael, one of my closest friends and coworkers. She also happens to own the B&B I’ve been staying in for the past year. “I wanted to see the sunrise. Matty stayed with Michael last night, so I’m flying solo.”
I turn to stare out at the sunrise alongside her, enjoying the way the world wakes up. It’s my favorite time of day because it’s the only point where everything is starting fresh. The day is a blank canvas, so many different opportunities awaiting.
I steal a look at her out of the
corner of my eye. Her jaw is set, her shoulders stiff. It seems that for Margot, the day is going to be anything but a fresh beginning. “Everything
okay?”
She sighs and runs a hand over the back of her neck. “I’m tired.”
“Margot.” I know her well enough to see that something is truly bothering her.
“Chad called.”
Anger surges through my system. In fact, the amount of fury I feel for a man I’ve never met should probably concern me.
But Chad O’Connell left his wife. Abandoned his son. And even if I didn’t know what it feels like to be left by the people who are supposed to love you most, I’d still see the man as absolutely useless. “What did he want?”
“According to him?” She scoffs. “A relationship with Matty.”
“You don’t think that’s what he wants?” I may have been a homicide detective with the LAPD before moving here to Hope Springs to work at a security firm, but it doesn’t
take a cop to hear the skepticism in her voice.
“No. I think he wants money. Or more of my dignity. Who knows, really. I just— I wish
he would stay gone.” A tear rolls down her cheek, and she quickly wipes it away.
Seeing her pain guts me.
I wish I could drive to whatever hole her ex crawled into, drag him out by the collar of his shirt, and tell him he’d better back off or I’d throw him in a cell and toss the key. Unfortunately, that would be assault no matter which way you spin it.
Margot is a good person. Her son is a good kid. Chad will bring nothing but problems back into their lives.
So, unable to do anything other than be here for her, I cross my arms and continue staring
straight ahead. Getting involved in personal business—especially the personal
business of my best friend’s sister—might be a mistake, but I can’t keep myself from trying to help where I can.
Margot has been more than kind to me. She’s allowed me to stay in the maintenance apartment of the B&B for such low rent it should be criminal, and she cooks me dinner most nights, even though I tell her it’s truly not necessary since I’m just as happy to occupy a booth in the diner.
Truth is, I prefer her company.
Which is dangerous. Because the more time I spend with her, the more I want to be around her. The beat of her broken heart haunts me because all I want to do is be the one to put it back together.
The problem is, mine’s in pieces, too.
Clearing my throat, I face her. “What can I do to help?”
“Oh, nothing.” She waves her hand as though she’s dismissing me away. “I’ll get it
figured out. I just thought I was done dealing with him when the divorce was final and he took off for good.”
I have no idea what really happened between them, though according to Michael, Chad skipped town one night and never came back. I have my suspicions that there’s
more to it and Margot likely doesn’t want to give her older brother any reason to let his temper loose.
The former boxer has a reputation for a reason.
Given that I have my own divorce I try to avoid talking about, I haven’t pressed and have no intentions of doing so. Sometimes bitter business is best left buried.
“Do you have a busy day?” she asks me, then turns and starts walking back toward the
path that leads to the B&B.
I follow, even though I wanted to get another few miles in. I sense she needs the company, and since she’s been a friend when I needed one, it seems only fair to return the favor. Then there’s the whole I love her company piece of it.
“Michael and I are headed to Smith Harbor for an install.” The town is about a twenty-minute drive from Hope
Springs, and while we didn’t have any business there before, we just picked up a handful of clients after some teens broke into a bunch of neighborhood vehicles.
“You guys have been out there a lot lately.”
“Yeah. We’ve done a couple installs a week for the past two months.”
“Good for business.” She heads up the stairs, then drops her sandals at the top and slips back into them, her coral-colored toenails peeking out of the ends.
“What about you?” I ask.
“The Butlers are checking out today, so I’ll be getting that room ready for the Greys, who will be arriving sometime this evening.”
Her tone is already exhausted. She’d had to let her cleaning lady go last week, so she’s
been doing it all. The books. The cleaning. At least Lilly, the local diner owner, and Kyra, our town’s baker and the wife of Pastor Redding, have stepped in to help with providing breakfast until Margot can get someone else hired.
She’s drowning, though, and too proud to ask for a rescue.
“Well, if you need help—”
“You’ve done plenty for me already,” she interrupts.
“Doesn’t feel that way,” I reply. “Changing out a lightbulb here and there hardly seems fair in exchange for room and board.”
"Trust me, it’s fair to me.” We reach the B&B, so I rush around and pull the door open. Breakfast is in full swing already, with muffins, donuts, and fresh coffee out and set up in the dining room.
After waving at a few of the guests, I follow Margot back into the kitchen where she
pours us each a cup of coffee. She pours a bit of creamer, some honey, and a splash of cinnamon into her cup, then turns and leans back against the counter.
“When Chad and I bought this place, he was supposed to handle the maintenance while I ran the rest of it. It was my dream, so when he started to skip certain tasks, I just let it go. I’d felt so guilty for asking for help.” She shakes her head,
and my contempt for her ex-husband grows. “Anyways, thank you for your help. And I’m sorry to lay it all on you first thing this morning.”
“Don’t apologize. I hear venting is what friends do for each other.”
She grins at my joke. “I’m worried about how Matty will take it if Chad decides to come
around and really does want to start trying to have a relationship with him. Truthfully, they didn’t get along even before Chad bailed. Matty isn’t into football or baseball. He likes to box, but only occasionally when he can get in the ring with Michael. Really, Matty loves to play chess. It’s one of his favorite things to do, and Chad just couldn’t understand why. He told him it
was the hobby of a weak man.” She shakes her head angrily. “Who tells their son
that?”
“Someone who has a small brain and doesn’t understand the game.”
Margot laughs, the happiest sound I’ve heard from her all morning, and it brings me a
dose of joy I hadn’t been expecting. “You know what? He most certainly does have a small brain.” She takes a drink of her coffee.
He’d have to, if he left you both behind. I run a hand over the back of my neck, uncomfortable at the track my thoughts have jumped onto. “I like to play chess, and I’m pretty good, too. So let me know if Matty ever wants a run for his money.”
Her expression completely lights up, and for a moment, it steals the air from my lungs. Margot is my friend. My best friend’s sister, so there can be no romance between us. But I can certainly appreciate the beauty she absolutely radiates. Especially when a smile from her brightens every aspect of my day. “Matty would love that
so much. I’ll have him get with you about setting up a game.”
“Great.” I finish my coffee, then rinse the cup and stick it in the dishwasher before turning to Margot. “I’ll see you later. Let me know if you have a to-do list
for me once the Butlers check out. I really can help if you need me.”
As I head upstairs, I mentally tally everything I need to accomplish today, from grabbing breakfast at the diner to updating my paperwork, the installation, and one final follow-up with Doc. It’s been nearly eight months since I was shot, but because of the fact that my back has already been broken once and is pieced
together with a rod and pins—thanks to an IED that nearly killed me overseas—he’s
been monitoring my recovery a bit closer than he would have anyone else.
According to him, if the bullet had been a centimeter to the left, it would have blown out the rod and likely paralyzed me permanently, given there wouldn’t have been enough bone left to stabilize me. Thank God it wasn’t.
I’m just getting out of the shower when I hear my phone ding. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I cross over and note the name on my screen. My heart drops, and my stomach twists into knots.
Not again.
Rosalie: Hey, I’m just checking in again. It’s been a few weeks since we talked, and I
would love an update on your care. Talk soon.
I cringe at the message. I’d accidentally answered one phone call because I hadn’t been paying attention to the caller, and it opened a door I closed a long time ago.
Still, I suppose there is some irony in the fact that both Margot’s ex-husband and my
ex-wife decided to try and make contact on the same day.
My phone rings again, and I half expect it to be her calling, but thankfully it’s my brother’s name on the screen. I have a moment of hesitation but shove it aside to put the phone on speaker. “Hey, Tyler, what’s up?”
“How you feeling, bro?”
“Back to normal. How are things with you?”
He sighs into the phone, Tyler Payne’s code for bad news delivery. Great. “Not too bad. Sherry is about ready to pop any day now.” His wife of two years is pregnant with their first child, a little boy due next month.
“I bet.” But I don’t buy into the good news. It’s his typical delivery method. Hit me
with the good news, then slam a right hook of bad straight into my jaw when I’m not looking.
“So listen—” He trails off a moment. “Dad’s been trying to get in touch with you.”
“Not interested.”
“Jaxson.”
“Not interested,” I repeat. “You want a relationship with him? Good for you. I, however, want nothing to do with the man.”
“You can’t hate him forever. He’s all we’ve got.”
“No. He’s all you’ve got. I have you, and I don’t need him.” Our dad left us when we were young. Bailed on our mom, who was already struggling with being a parent as it was. She wanted nothing to do with us, so she dropped us off at a shelter and never came back. I was sixteen, and my brother was nine.
It’s why I have no tolerance for Chad. My father abandoned me, too.
Tyler and I barely scraped by, living on the streets until I turned eighteen and could
legally adopt him. And that was a fight in and of itself. Two years of stealing food, sleeping in alleys or shelters, and hiding from the authorities who would
have thrown us in different group homes. We likely never would have seen each other again.
“What happened to forgiveness?” he asks me, knowing I’ve been on a journey to grow my faith for the past few years.
“I can forgive him and want nothing to do with him,” I reply. “Is that all you had to say?”
He sighs again. “He wants to talk to you. To air things out.”
“There’s nothing to air out.” The familiar anger climbs up the back of my neck, and I have to force it down and remind myself that it’s not Tyler’s fault. He’d been young then, younger when our dad bailed.
He doesn’t remember all the fighting.
The horrible words spoken.
But I do.
And while I am working to forgive, forgetting is not something I’m sure I can do.
“Jaxson, he’s our dad.”
“I have a Father,” I tell him. “And
He will never leave me. I don’t need Bradley Payne.”
“You’ve got to let the past go, or it’s going to drag you down,” he argues.
“I’m not being dragged down by it,” I tell him truthfully. “I just don’t have the same interest to share a meal with the man who bailed on us.” My phone beeps, so I glance at the screen and note Lance’s name flashing. “I have to go. Work is calling.”
"We’re not done with this.”
"We are. Love you, Ty, tell Sherry I said hi.” Without waiting for a response, I swap
lines. “What’s up?” I ask, phone still on speaker so I can pull on my boots.
“How soon can you get into the office?”
“I’m just getting dressed now, so fifteen minutes? Why?”
He sighs into the phone, which tells me whatever news he has is not good. “We’ve got a
missing person,” Lance says. “And Sheriff Vick is requesting our help.”
